


i could make you want me

by philliam



Series: make it holy [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Crossdressing, Kissing, M/M, P5R Spoilers, Pining, akechi rank 3 spoilers, light roleplay, p5r - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23526601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philliam/pseuds/philliam
Summary: Akechi allowing Akira to dress him up makes Akira wonder what else the detective might allow him to do.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: make it holy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811320
Comments: 6
Kudos: 217





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just something quick i needed to get out of my system after unlocking rank 2 of akechi's confidant.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Akechi says, smile still plastered on his face even though it is quite the definition of ‘forced’. Someone glued it on and forgot to remove it, and now the whole concept of showing what he really thinks about this seems foreign to him. Akira can’t imagine he’s all too happy.

“Trust me, this will be great.” Akira’s hands strain trying to reach Akechi’s hair. His fingers around Akira’s wrists are burning hot, and for someone as skinny as Akechi, he’s surprisingly strong. Yet another little fact Akira is going to hide in his chest so he can unfold it later and put together the puzzle that Akechi is. The first fact he’s learnt: Akechi smells really good.

“You didn’t have to take it literally, you know.” He’s still struggling against Akira’s grabby hands, his back bending further and further over the sink and Akira summons every ounce of self-control so he doesn’t step closer to push his pelvis against Akechi’s. He’s come this far; he won’t fuck it up by allowing his hormones to take over.

Luckily, the restroom inside the café is empty, though not for long Akira imagines, and he’s sure whoever enters next will interpret this scene as Akira trying to assault the famous detective and call the cops on him (which isn’t news but he’d still rather spend his time with Akechi in peace).

“It’s really—” Akira grunts. “For your own good.” A step to the side, his hip against Akechi’s and there you can see his self-control flying out of the window. Akechi makes a choking sound, but the brief contact is enough to make him lose focus and not a second later are Akira’s hands back in his hair.

Silky brown hair glides through his fingers. Leaning in to examine if it smells just as good as it feels would be too much, but damn it if Akira isn’t tempted. He does a good job in making total chaos of Akechi’s usually kempt hair, eyes intensely focused on the task because he’s sure meeting Akechi’s death glare might spur him to do more things he’ll regret later.

Kiss him for example. Which is a long stretch, it’s only their second date and they haven’t had a real dinner yet. Not that Akechi thinks the same. Probably not. Which doesn’t explain why his hips are still locked in place, comfortably pressed against Akira’s.

For good measure, Akira gives a last tug to the hair curling around Akechi’s nape, finding enough courage to finally lower his eyes to see what kind of expression he’s wearing.

God help him.

In search for a witty comment, he pretends to work a little more on the strands of hair falling in Akechi’s face so he can _accidentally_ brush a thumb over crimson red cheeks. Akechi’s reaction is a guttural sound from his throat, and Akira plays a round of _suck him off, don’t suck him off_ in his head, plucking the white petals off a daisy flower. He’s recently learnt besides innocence they also mean beauty and loyal love.

See, he can be a romantic even before hitting second base.

Though Akechi looks like he’d rather have his hands around Akira’s throat (not in a kinky way, which is a shame) than anything else, so when Akira deems his masterpiece finished, he takes a step back and gives Akechi the last once-over.

He looks terrible, like a dog left in the rain, and if that is how Akira looks every day by default, no wonder Takemi still doesn’t want to meet up with him.

“You look great,” Akira says and puts as much conviction in his voice as his conscience allows.

Akechi considers him with a blank expression. “Let’s get this over with, shall we.” He leads the way back outside to their seats on the patio. Only then Akira realises what’s missing to make the disguise perfect—the very reason that started everything.

“Also, put these on,” he orders, pushing his spare pair of fake glasses in Akechi’s hands. He inspects them first, then Akira, and realising there is no way for him out of this, Akechi obeys and slides them on his nose.

Akira almost misses his seat and quickly grabs onto the railing before landing face first on the ground.

A thin, white line is where Akechi’s full lips used to be, his eyes obscured by the reflection on the glass and Akira feels his fingers itching to get his phone out and take a picture.

Despite everything, it works and the little crowd gathering in front of the café quickly disperses, leaving them alone again. Akechi’s hands move fast to bring order back to his appearance, though there are still strands sticking out in every direction and Akira chooses not to tell him.

“I can’t believe you really did that,” Akechi says. There’s a smile flirting with his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I suppose I’d better learn to watch what I say around you.”

He’s already made a mistake a month ago. Akira just needs to figure out where it belongs and what to do with it. But that’s an issue for later, when he isn’t preoccupied with trying to get into the detective’s pants.

Akira crosses his legs and taps his foot against the metal table leg. “I should have taken a picture,” he mutters.

Akechi’s smile is razor-sharp and Akira doesn’t doubt he’ll cut himself if he tries another stunt like that. The hollow laugh following that sounds ghastly. “Are you familiar with the legal right of portrait?” Akechi asks, the lack of actual joy in his tone only stoking the heat of a threat Akira would love to see playing out. “Or privacy, perhaps?”

 _I know I want to get more private with you_ , Akira doesn’t say because that will surely land him the fork laying in front of Akechi somewhere he’s too fond of to part with, so instead he slides a little down his seat, cocking one head to the side. “I think it worked out well. Nobody paid you attention after that, right”?

“That is true,” Akechi admits begrudgingly, staring down into his cup like the secrets of the universe might be displayed there. Or a way to ditch Akira in a pit without too anyone noticing.

 _Tap, tap, tap_ , continues Akira’s foot against the metal pole, and Akechi’s silence makes him wonder if he went a little too far for how little acquainted they are.

But then he feels something warm slide up against his calf, definitely not the table leg, which only leaves one option and Akira has to hold on to something or else he might just turn into a puddle. Every muscle in his body tenses with the effort to maintain his poker face as he looks up at Akechi.

“You did show me that trying something new isn’t a bad idea,” he starts, and Akira waits a full solid minute to give Akechi time to retreat if the contact was a simple accident—maybe just some stretching that went in the wrong direction. If anything, the pressure against his leg only doubles. “It makes me think about all the other things I’m missing out because I simply choose to follow routine instead of thinking outside the box.”

Akira leans forward now, resting his chin on his hand.

Akechi mirrors the movement, a glint flashing in his eyes that is more challenge than everything he’s said until now.

“And what kind of things are you missing out on, pray tell.”

“How about next time we change things and you leave the dressing up to me.”

“Oh?” Akira’s eyebrows arch up. “Anything in particular?”

“Where would be the fun in telling.” The warmth against Akira’s leg disappears, and he’d wonder if he’d imagined it were it not for the little playful smile tugging at the corners of Akechi’s mouth. “What was it you said? Ah, yes. You’ll just have to trust me. It will be great.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Akechi's turn and oh boy, nothing could have prepared Akira for this.

Never has Akira imagined Akechi’s promise on dressing him up would look like _this_. The fabric is firm to the touch, midnight black leather that hugs his body tightly in the right places and leaves little to the imagination. He’s almost put a run in the stockings, their feeling on his skin completely foreign but not unpleasant. At least the pressure of gloves is something familiar, even though they reach just a little above his elbows.

He tugs at them, making sure they’re staying in place. Now only the wig is left.

“Do I even want to know where you got that from?” he asks, lowering his head so he can put on the wig. It fits a little too well, from the colour to how unruly curls stick to all sides, and Akira tries to imagine Akechi standing in front of a wig shop and thinking of Akira’s hair. It makes his toes curl.

“I can’t just simply give out my contacts,” Akechi says. He’s sitting on Akira’s bed (deliberately, Akira wants to add because he did offer the couch first), one leg over the other, a finger against his chin like he’s inspecting the new exotic exhibit in a museum rather than looking at a dude crossdressing. “Oh, and don’t forget the footwear. Only that makes the outfit complete, you know.”

Akira feels the corners of his mouth twitch. Who is he to decline a request like that. Doesn’t mean he can’t make up his own rules though. So he turns around, and bends over to pick them up.

He hears Akechi’s sharp inhale. That’s 1:0 for Akira. He’d probably be happier about it if he wasn’t busy wondering how Akechi got his shoe size right.

“Okay, done.” Akira turns around, showing off the whole outfit. “Not what I expected when you said you’d dress me up as you, but I’m not complaining.” His hands run down his skirt, straightening the little creases until it falls like a smooth, black waterfall over his hips. Maybe next time they need the girls wrapping someone around their finger in the Metaverse for infiltration purposes, he should volunteer and see how far he can come.

“You…” Akechi’s voice is low, bringing Akira’s thoughts back to the present. “You handle this far better than I expected.”

“You thought I’d get embarrassed?” Akira cocks his head to one side, unable to stop his lips crooking into a grin. He moves closer to the bed, carefully swaying his hips left and right. He shouldn’t have bothered, for Akechi’s eyes are glued to his feet and the knee-high boots he’s wearing. Slowly his hand falls from his face, and instead his arms come up across his chest, hands trying to hold onto the fabric of his jacket so tight his knuckles turn white.

“I surely did not expect you to handle heels that well. Do you have experience?”

Now it’s Akira’s momentum staggering. He stops right in front of Akechi and imagines sinking down on his knees, pushing Akechi’s legs apart so they both can finally focus on anything different than interrogating each other and use their mouths for something more fun.

“I am skilled in a lot of things,” he says, slightly bending down so he’s at eye level with the detective.

Akechi’s eyes slowly roam from his feet over his chest up to his face. “Are you now.” He doesn’t sound impressed.

“Want me to show you?”

Akechi’s expression remains passive for a moment; only furrows his eyebrows. Akira now knows it means he’s mentally putting every possible outcome into neat categories to find out which is the best. In the end, he settles on a polished TV smile, blinding and unbearably fake. “There is something missing though.”

Akira raises an eyebrow. “I feel nothing that you’ll say will add to this outfit.”

“Then you sure won’t mind me proving my point.” He doesn’t wait for a reply and rummages in his jacket pockets for a moment, pulling out a little cylinder object. It glints golden in the dim light, the bottom part a luscious red.

All Akira can manage is, “Oh.”

“If you’ll excuse me.” Akechi catches Akira’s jaw, digging his thumb into his chin and what would Akira give to have him gloveless. The cap comes off with a soft _pop_. Akira can’t help but shudder when the soft tip of the lipstick meets his lips without Akechi batting an eyelash. There’s no hesitation, only intense concentration on his part as he applies the colour on Akira, the crimson red just a shade darker than the gloves he’s wearing in the Metaverse.

He summons all his self-restrain to not run his tongue over his lips—an almost impossible task with Akechi’s eyes focused on his mouth.

“Almost done.” Akechi’s voice is barely a whisper, thick with something that Akira wishes is arousal. “Just ... a little off here.” His gloved thumb drags over the lowest part of Akira’s bottom lip, correcting where the lipstick has smudged onto his skin, and something in Akira dies inside, making breathing too hard; restraining himself too cruel.

“There we go.” Akechi’s fingers disappear, but Akira’s skin still burns where they touched him. “Perfect.”

And then he slants his mouth down over Akira’s, a hand raking through his ink-black hair and finding home at the back of his nape where they close into a fist to hold him right there. Not that Akira had any intention of moving away. He allows Akechi to devour his mouth, tasting his teeth and tongue and everything inside until they’re both breathless and gasping for air—two boys drowning in pleasure with only their lips against each other as the rescue rope.

“Detective,” Akira breathes against Akechi’s red lips, looking up into hazel eyes with pupils blown wide black with pleasure. “I see frequenting with a delinquent has made you quite bold. Do you think you can just do whatever you want and go unpunished?”

A little huff escapes his lips, warming Akira’s cheeks. “I didn’t make you wear this because I’m into roleplay, Kurusu,” he says, quickly uncrossing his legs and spreading them when Akira nudges them open with his knee so he can step in between.

“A little too late for that, don’t you think?” He catches Akechi’s hands when they make their way up Akira’s legs and under the hem of his skirt, firmly pressing against his thighs. If his lips look this pretty smudged red, Akira is confident he himself isn’t looking bad either.

Akechi rolls his eyes, his hands going slack in Akira’s grip. “Fine. Officer. What would you have me do?” His voice is dry enough to turn the plant inside Akira’s room crisp and dead.

Akira gives his wrist a little squeeze. “Now we’re talking.”

**

“I can’t believe you make me do this.”

Akira really shouldn’t get such a kick out of hearing the embarrassment in Akechi’s voice, but he’s learnt a few new things about himself today and what is one tiny kink more on a list he hopes he’ll find time to explore.

“And don’t forget to wipe behind the counter as well,” Akira says, his legs crossed at his ankles with a magazine on his thighs as he slouches in a booth, watching Akechi clean Leblanc. Sure, this could have gone somewhere completely different, but Akira relishes in the sight of sleeves pushed up to elbows and sweat glistening on a slender neck. “Boss is really strict when it comes to that place.”

Akechi throws him a nasty glare, looking ready to strangle Akira with his bare hands. Still not in the kinky way.

They’ll get there someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's that. kinda nice to write two short things and be done with it. now excuse me as i return back to my couch to continue playing and cry over shuake.

**Author's Note:**

> can’t believe atlus gave us his confidant and just simply decided that you still can’t date him. might write a second part after this from akechi’s pov holding onto his promise (unless this escalates into a hole multi-chaptered shuake fic).


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